


psychobioelectromechanical

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M, Mark I Glory Days, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s an integration of all of the above, but a test of patience above all.</p>
<p>(Or Stacker gets fitted for a circuitry suit, and that amounts to a pathetic little of the actual word count.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	psychobioelectromechanical

**Author's Note:**

> has it really been this long since my last hot dads fic :OO

The problem with the circuitry suits is that they must fit like a second skin, lying flat against bare skin to relay the kind of motion they require in the harness. And really, it wouldn’t be much of a problem for Stacker himself if Hercules Hansen wasn’t present.

The same man who is sitting up on one of the beds in a commandeered room in the makeshift medbay they’ve got here on Kodiak Island.

The first time Stacker Pentecost gets fitted for his circuitry suit, it’s a test in patience.

“You don’t have to wait for me.”

Stacker tells him, tilting his head back just far enough to acknowledge the Australian pilot with his boots kicked up on the white sheets, ease in every line his body draws.

The technician has just stepped out, and Stacker takes the efforts not to jar a thing, not the wires running up and down his body or the electrodes stuck on top of little dots made in marker across his skin.

“Doesn’t really matter, mate.” Herc grins, teeth flashing between lips. “Not like I haven’t seen everything already.”

Stacker maintains that he’s got enough dignity still, standing in the cool room stripped down until he’s just in his underwear, a fellow pilot just a few feet away looking him up and down in ways that doesn’t try to mask a thing. It’s a test in patience for Stacker not to get caught rolling his eyes or laugh sharply at such a cheap shot. The fact that he can already hear the way Herc would sound, telling him that it would only be _unbecoming of you, Ranger_ with his tongue dragging that very last word against his skin.

“Wait until you’re in my shoes.”

“Or lack of them, Stacks.”

Stacker looks away just as the technician returns, leaving Herc to track him with his eyes.

“Found the tape measure.” The technician says, a laugh as she holds it up across the width of his shoulders. “Arms parallel to the ground please, Ranger Pentecost.”

And this time, he doesn’t need to turn his head around to feel the full weight of Hercules’ gaze settling over him.

 

It’s a test in patience, and this time, it is Stacker in Hercules’ shoes.

Or still a lack of them because he is lying horizontal in a loveseat that Tamsin dragged to a corner of their shared room at the beginning of their stay on the Island. With the testing grounds of the Jaeger Program looking up but their quarters sparsely furnished, Stacker have always wanted to ask Tamsin _how_ but knew better than to ask for the real answer.

With his guess, it probably involves an official’s private quarters and a misplaced bet from a fellow Ranger, and that is probably still the legal version of what really happened.

Stacker might be the one lying on top of the covers of this metaphoric bed but unlike their makeshift medbay, he has Hercules Hansen draped over him. The man is not reclaiming his territory even as he touches every inch of skin with his mouth, presses his tongue everywhere he can and calls him _mine_.

It’s a rough sound that makes it out as a rumble from his chest.

It’s a sweet word said and taken from between his teeth when Hercules finally pulls himself up, tracking his lips everywhere else before Stacker is dragging him down and meeting him halfway with his mouth. Stacker is still bare feet, and for a sofa barely big enough for a man of his size, adding Hercules to the picture certainly doesn’t make it any easier. But easy has never been a thing of his past. It is not about to be something of his future.

The present can be an exception, he isn’t turning red at the noises he makes, just that he hasn’t been this easy for a man in a long, long time. With one leg over the armrest and the other dangling over the edge, he’s got his thighs spread wide, bare skin sticking to the faux leather, and the hook of Herc’s fingers at the band of his briefs.

“May I?”

“Are you really asking for my permission here, Sergeant?” Stacker raises an eyebrow and tips his head to the side, to where the trail of his own clothes tracks them from the door to their feet.

Herc grins like that isn’t his handiwork, like he hasn’t stripped Stacker out of everything but his underwear as soon as they came inside the room and he has him pressed against the back of the door. Teeth flashing like he isn’t just a little bit proud that his opened mouth is good enough of a distraction to keep the Brit’s head in the clouds while his hands worked at getting him out of clothes.

“Guess not then.”

When he drags them down, Stacker finds it a little unfair that Herc is still in his full flight suit. But there is something about the rough drag of canvas across his bare skin that is really doing it for the both of them if the press of Herc’s clothed erection against the base of his is any indication.

His touch is not electricity over his skin but the blunt push of his fingers into him might be just that. His vision consists of red hair and blue eyes, the glint of the metal plates on Hercules’ boots that looks like something held together at the seams by sheer ridiculous Australian pride alone.

Herc might be telling him to relax but Stacker wants to come and Herc isn’t touching him where he wants most even if he is giving him everything else. He fucks him with his fingers, and Stacker is only going red, not because of the slight noises getting out between his teeth but the wet ones from the crook of Herc’s fingers in his ass.

“Anymore of that,” He starts and the falter in his own words nearly catches himself in surprise first, “And I might come without being touched at all, Herc.”

“And who’s sayin’ that wasn’t my plan all along, Stacks?"

He is still red hair and blue eyes, but he is also a half grin and a thousand freckles up close. Stacker imagines he could laugh if he still had any words left in him.

Herc makes a pretty sight and Stacker isn’t entirely against the sight of him in his bed for however long the both of them have got on this earth. (This is a thought that takes Tamsin three simulations to find. With Trespasser bleeding out in the San Francisco striat through their Conn-Pod visor, leaking blue into the water, she turns to him in the sim and gives him a grin that is all teeth.)

He hasn’t been in his head since those initial trials of something Dr. Lightcap has been calling drift compatibility. And Stacker figures he can’t get as close to someone else outside of these machines but this is a good substitute in getting a fix that finally fixes the itch beneath his skin.

His fingers are wet with lube when he pulls them out and Stacker takes pity on Herc long enough to reach out with a hand to drag the zipper of the flight suit down.

“Think I can’t take it?” He asks, feeling the rub of Herc’s cock against his ass, the spread of his cheeks, over but not in. Stacker doesn’t know what is more infuriating right now, the man or his cock.

“I think taking it slow is not such a bad idea.” Herc says, leaning over him, with his flight suit around his waist and the tension in his arms as he repeats the motion, just slower but with a bit more pressure.

“Might want to mention that on the first date next time, Hercules.”

He bites his name apart between his teeth, dares him not to give him this as Herc smiles, and says. “Next time.”

“I expect flowers.”

“You might have to settle for blocks of ice around this part of the world, mate.”

Stacker doesn’t get another word in.

He lets Herc wrap a hand around his wrist, brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them into the warm, hot, heat with an exaggerated hollowing of his cheeks. And it doesn’t feel entirely different when Herc finally relents and pushes inside, rocking forward by increments until he is fully seated inside of him. There might still be another breath left in the confines of Stacker’s chest but he is settled with keeping this one just for himself unlike the rest that goes out of him with each slow and shallow thrust.

“…You’re good?”

“If only you’d move, _mate_.”

Herc is still red hair, blue eyes, and that half grin stretched across his lips. And Stacker isn’t sure how much he means this when he is leaving him with rings of lube around his wrist and tracking him with spit shined kisses along his jaw. It’s all biology here with the birds and the bees as they’ve never been taught, and the rocking of his hips pushing him deeper into him.

 

He doesn’t come untouched but it comes close.

He is not shouting through the thin walls but he is barely grunts and sighs made into the crook of his elbow as he slings an arm across his face, just so he doesn’t have to see the slide of the head of his cock in Herc’s hold. Him jerking him off as he fucks into him.

Him wanting more and getting just that.

The motion becomes a rhythm and it’s one that sets them both off.

It’s not like the small, narrow loveseat allows for much of an afterglow but he takes what he can get, they both do. Herc should probably move, pull out of him and get them both in the shower before it gets too messy to clean up, his hand and the streaks of cum on Stacks’ abdomen not withstanding. But he is shuddering out a breath that leaves Stacker’s skin warm, the slow drag of his scruff as he drops a kiss that misses Stacker’s mouth by a bit.

“…Good?”

Stacker opens his eyes with Herc’s question, opens his eyes to the slope of Herc’s shoulders and groans when he gingerly pulls out of him, careful as he ties off the condom. His entire body feels heavy, his legs pleading to have the room to stretch, but he can only answer to Herc’s hand, the one that always come back to curl around his hip.

“It was good enough.”

He tells him that with an easy drop of a kiss over Herc’s mouth as he sits up on the loveseat, watches Herc’s brows furrow before the smile he’s been biting back spills into a laugh. The insulted face he makes at him only makes Stacker laugh harder. He gets a kiss that is all bite in return.

Hercules cleans him up when the two of them finally find it in themselves to get up. He moves them both to the bed, takes the dirty tissues to the trashcan and picks up the trail of clothes still on the ground. And Stacker thinks that might be better than flowers on a first, second, third, or fourth date.

“You reckon I could get more of this than a block of ice?”

Herc looks at him from where he is closing the lights to the bathroom, and how caught off guard he looks right there before he gives him a grin is something Stacker wants more of too.

“You just had to ask, mate.”

Stacker watches as Herc sits at the edge of the bed to kick off his boots and the rest of his clothes. He watches and he wonders maybe in an hour or two, he could ask Herc whether he would fuck his throat.

 

 

bonus:

“Y'know, you don’t have to be here!” He calls out from behind the curtains, and from Stacker’s place, on the other side and waiting, Hercules Hansen does not sound one bit impressed.

“I _want_ to, Herc.”

It’s a test in patience, this time of the technician when she has her next Ranger stripping down to just his underwear in her workspace. Only this time, Ranger Hercules Hansen steps out from behind the curtains with his pale skin littered in healed scratches and bruises in places that must be love bites, his freckles standing out in sharp relief to the flush that goes down to his chest.

Stacker doesn’t hide the grin as he settles back on one of the visitor’s plastic chairs to enjoy the view.

 

XXX Kuro


End file.
